


The Imperial Enchanter

by hindsight404



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Circle of Magi, Circle of Ostwick, F/M, Gen, Mages, Mages and Templars, Series, Templars, The Grand Game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hindsight404/pseuds/hindsight404
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was taken to the Ostwick Circle when I was very young. So far as I'm concerned, my life began there." Vivienne - otherwise known as Madame de Fer, Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais, and First Enchanter of Montsimmard - started somewhere. What made her the woman she is today? A not-always canon exploration of Vivienne's character and her formation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Vivienne's backstory (what little we know of it) intrigues me. I decided to write it. Here follows what I think could possibly be part of Vivienne's background, based off dialogue and the small bits of information that we have. Not guaranteed to be canon nor to be perfect. Some characters are made up. Everything else belongs to Bioware and Vivienne is written by Mary Kirby. Please review, but be constructive and kind.

Hollow

               She remembers the time she froze the pail of water hanging from the side of her mother’s jewelry stall. She remembers the time that she lost her temper and accidentally set fire to the fine bolts of cloth and satin her father was planning to sell. She remembers the lightning that ripped through her fingers in retaliation when that boy pushed her to the ground. She doesn’t remember _how_ she did it, just that she did and that there seemed to be an energy about it; something that crackled and hummed with _power_.

               She thinks sadly of that day with the boy. She hurt him because she didn’t understand. Her outrage – her lack of control – harmed him. It was a terrible thing for her to do, but she did not know what she was doing. That day was a day of misunderstanding.

               And it was also the day that began her on a path. A path to relevance and fear and admiration.

               Four years old. That was how old she had been when the Templars took her from her parents to the Circle in Ostwick. If there was any memory that she once had of them – their faces, their voices, their scents, or the warmth of their embrace – it was long gone. It had been many years since that day and she had forgotten them. She remembered more fondly the men and women of the Templar order who had delivered her to the tower, as well as one woman; one who compared to all others and who had taught her everything she needed to know.

               “My name is Enchanter Lydia,” said the woman standing in front of her. A hand was offered. “May I take you to meet the other children, darling?”

               She took the woman’s hand, shaking slightly, pondering as to whether or not she should trust her. The hand was effervescent with energy, the same kind that she herself possessed; but it was also soft, steady, calm.

               “Welcome to the Circle, my dear. What is your name?”

               “Viv… Vivienne,” she replied.

…

               “Vivienne, my dear, will you be sure to put all these books back where they belong? I would so hate to see them end up in the wrong place.”

               “Of course,” she replied, trying to imitate the woman’s tones of succulent and sweet and commanding.

               She was a work in a progress, Enchanter Lydia had told her.

               As Vivienne filed the books, the Enchanter inquired about her upcoming Harrowing. “How do you feel about it, darling? Do you feel ready?”

               “I am…not sure what it entails, Enchanter.”

               “It will put you to the test. You have ample skills, my dear, don’t forget that. You have become quite proficient in your ice spells, Enchanter Seamus tells me.”

               “He is a good teacher.”

               “Ah, and you are so humble too, darling.”

               Vivienne looked up at the Enchanter – her mentor and friend – and smiled. It gave her great pride to hear such admonition from Enchanter Lydia.

               Lydia was Antivan by birth, a fact reflected in her accent and appearance. She loved to wear fine silk and dark samite, adorn herself with gold baubles and jeweled rings, and parade around in the tallest pair of leather heeled boots Vivienne had seen in her life. Vivienne often wondered why the First Enchanter let Lydia wear such finery and how the Templars never seemed to care that she was dressed so well. Lydia did as she pleased with no repercussions. Or so it seemed to Vivienne, at least.

               “You will make a fine Enchanter someday, dear girl. Perhaps even First Enchanter. Now, wouldn’t that be something?”

               Vivienne hid the rush of warmth to her face beneath a coy change in her posture. She returned to her task of placing the books back on their shelves. As she did she thought to herself about how wonderful it would be someday to become First Enchanter. At the Ostwick Circle, First Enchanter Hadrian was a respected man. The Templars, who were constantly rumored among the apprentices to be hard and unkind beyond the walls of Ostwick, seemed to like the man. It had even been whispered that Knight-Commander Madrigal herself regularly drank tea and discussed the comings and goings of the tower with the First Enchanter.

               Perhaps, someday and Maker-willing, Vivienne might be First Enchanter; a woman of power and respect, like Enchanter Lydia and First Enchanter Hadrian. The thought gave her hope.

               “When you’re done with the books, Vivienne dear, you are free to go. I do not have any further lessons for the day.”

               “Yes, Enchanter.”

               Vivienne completed her task quickly. As she left the Enchanter’s study she saw a Templar walking towards her. She recognized the woman as a close friend of Lydia’s, someone who regularly dropped by after Vivienne’s lessons. Vivienne moved out of the Templar’s way and let her pass. The Templar woman remained silent, but her eyes bore into Vivienne’s as she walked. A small part of Vivienne inwardly cringed. But the Templars were there to protect the mages, she reassured herself, and moved into the hallway, avoiding the woman’s gaze.

               Vivienne wended her way through the tower to the apprentice quarters. There, a cluster of teens her age sat on their beds playing cards. Several others lay on their bunks reading books or practicing small spells. One little girl, the youngest of them all, was playing in the corner with a glowing white wisp. Vivienne went to her bunk and sat down, hoping that she would be able to sneak in a quick nap before the evening’s supper.

               “Viv!” called a familiar voice while a petite hand nudged her shoulder.

               “Petyr, I just closed my eyes!” Vivienne complained, opening them and sitting up to stare at the boy perched on the bunk across from her. “What is it?”

               “Did you hear?”

               Mages in the tower – particularly the apprentices – loved gossip and loved circulating it even more. The Free Marcher boy with blonde fuzz on his upper lip wearing wrinkled robes was no exception.

               “Hear what?” Vivienne herself was not immune to such things either.

               “Lyssa went in for her Harrowing two days ago, but hasn’t returned.”

               Vivienne remembered Lyssa, a sweet elvhen girl. The two were not close companions, but they were close in age. Lyssa came to the Ostwick Circle a few days after Vivienne had been delivered. She claimed to have been saved by the Templars after the humans in her alienage threatened to burn down her family’s home, just because it had been discovered that she had magic. She and Vivienne grew up together, had all the same lessons, heard all the same lectures, and even exchanged class notes every once in a while.

               “I’m sure she’s fine, Petyr. You know how sometimes it takes a few days for the ones who pass to wake up.”

               “Not what I heard, though,” Petyr whispered, moving in closer. At this close distance, Vivienne spotted more downy blonde fuzz on his pudgy cheeks and a few hairs on his chin. He continued, “One of the little ones said that she saw the Templars moving Lyssa to the Tranquil quarters last night.”

               “Don’t be absurd!” Vivienne chided, trying again to sound the way Enchanter Lydia did when she reprimanded anyone.

               “Well, what if it’s true, Viv?”

               She didn’t like the Tranquil much, to be honest. They scared her. To live without emotion, without magic, without power… The thought was horrifying for Vivienne. If Lyssa had been made Tranquil that was a terrible fate. Vivienne would not wish that for any mage.

               “We don’t know if it is. It’s pointless to put stock in a rumor like that until we know the truth,” she huffed and then lay back down.

               She shut her eyes – squeezed them tight – and heard Petyr sigh and leave her to her nap. Vivienne rolled over onto her side. What if it was true? What if that kind girl who passed Vivienne notes on the nature of the Fade and the alchemical uses of lyrium was gone? Not truly here nor truly there. A fate worse than death. It was a thought that churned Vivienne’s insides and turned her heart to ice.


	2. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne's backstory (what little we know of it) intrigues me. I decided to write it. Here follows what I think could possibly be part of Vivienne's background, based off dialogue and the small bits of information that we have. Not guaranteed to be canon nor to be perfect. Some characters are made up. Everything else belongs to Bioware and Vivienne is written by Mary Kirby. Please review, but be constructive and kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence, possession, and use of blood magic ahead.

Hurt

               “Knight-Commander, this is Vivienne, my apprentice.”

               Enchanter Lydia made the introduction. Vivienne scarcely believed it was happening. Everyone in the tower knew who Knight-Commander Geraldine Madrigal was and it was not every day that a mage apprentice of little importance had the opportunity to meet her.

               “Good afternoon, Vivienne.” The Knight-Commander’s voice rang with strong stoicism, Vivienne noticed.

               She was a stone-faced woman with a hard, angular jawline. Copper freckles flecked her skin. Orange hair like fire had been braided back, the spear-shaped end meeting between her armor’s pauldrons. Geraldine Madrigal was a woman of superior height, even without her heavy-plated boots on. Vivienne, who herself was considered tall, had to look up to see the woman’s eyes. To say the woman was intimidating was an understatement.

               “Good afternoon, Knight-Commander,” Vivienne managed to squeak in response.

               “Young Vivienne is about to take on her Harrowing. Tomorrow morning, I believe, is that right, my dear?”

               Vivienne nodded, still shocked that Lydia was attempting to make conversation between her and the Knight-Commander.

               “Remember, child, _words_.”

               Vivienne shook herself from her frozen stupor. “Yes, in the morning. I take my Harrowing in the morning.”

               “Well, best of luck to you,” Madrigal replied. The corners of her mouth turned dour. “If I know anything about Lydia, it is that she has trained you well, but there is always a risk.”

               A risk of what? Vivienne wondered.

               Before she could ask, Enchanter Lydia jumped back in. “No matter. Vivienne is capable and I am confident, Knight-Commander.”

               “Good. We’ve had enough tragedy for a while.” The Knight-Commander nodded to the Enchanter and to Vivienne, evidently ending the conversation. “Lydia, a pleasure as always. Vivienne.”

               Vivienne watched the Knight-Commander and her trail of Templars leave. She kept one hand on the hilt of her sword as she walked and her eyes up, constantly vigilant. As she walked the sea of mages before her parted. Vivienne thought about how it must feel, to hold such power and to know it would be respected.

               “Vivienne, child, close your mouth and stop staring. It’s very rude and unbecoming.”

               Chided once again, Vivienne hid her blush with a rake of her fingers through her curly hair.

               “Forgive me, Enchanter. I did not mean to.”

               “You are learning. It is to be expected that you would be curious about such a respectable woman like the Knight-Commander. I will give you the benefit of the doubt, but you must learn to keep your wondering and curiosity to yourself. Otherwise, it will be used against you. Am I clear, darling?”

               “Yes, Enchanter.” Vivienne nodded once – Lydia taught her that more than once was a sign of overenthusiasm and fervor, another thing which could be used against her.

               “Good. Now, I must run along to my meeting and you have class. I will see you again before supper.”

               “Yes, Enchanter. Good afternoon.”

               Lydia smiled – genuinely smiled – and it warmed Vivienne’s heart. She departed from her mentor to join her friend Petyr and the other apprentices. They always met in the main hall so they could walk together to their next class under the watchful eyes of the Templars.

               “Did you just meet the Knight-Commander?” Petyr asked Vivienne as she approached the young group of apprentices.

               “I did,” she replied.

               “What did she say?”

               “Is that jealousy or fear I detect in your voice, Petyr?” Vivienne asked.

               “Maybe both. Who cares? Viv, you met the Knight-Commander.”

               “Did I not just confirm that?”

               The group began to walk towards their class, Vivienne and Petyr walking alongside each other. Petyr hefted his overstuffed book bag over one shoulder and blubbered like a fool for a few seconds before Vivienne shot him a deadly glance. He raised his hands in defeat.

               “It’s fine. I was just wondering if you asked her about Lyssa though?”

               Lyssa, the elvhen apprentice who hadn’t been seen for two weeks. A rumor circulated that someone saw her being shuffled off to the Tranquil quarters. Another rumor suggested she had disappeared, just as so many others had who didn’t pass their Harrowing. And another – the most popular of them all – told of a daring escape and her attempt to unite with the Dalish. Which of the rumors were true, Vivienne, and no one really for that matter, had any idea. But Vivienne had an uneasy feeling, a shifting slithering suspicion that the girl had been made Tranquil and would sometime soon be seen again by those of the Ostwick Circle.

               “Of course not. That would make for dull and improper conversation.”

               “But—“

               “Enchanter Lydia says there is a time and a place for all topics of discussion.”

               “Yeah, and when are you going to talk to the Knight-Commander again?”

               Vivienne swallowed hard, because the likeliness of that re-occurring was infinitesimally low. But since when had she, little Vivienne, a mere apprentice of sixteen years, become a spokesperson for every single mage that disappeared from the tower? She never had and she had no intentions of becoming that spokesperson either.

               “If you’re so concerned, go talk to the First Enchanter,” she sneered, veering off from Petyr’s side to walk along the edge of the group of apprentices.

               Enchanter Seamus’s class on the natures of spirits and demons was on the second floor of the tower. As the gaggle of young people ascended the flight of stairs leading up to their destination, Vivienne looked up to see two familiar faces standing guard at the doors of the landing.

They were Templars, but they were Vivienne’s friends. They were the ones who delivered her to the Circle.

               “Vivienne!” called out the younger of the two when he caught her eye.

               “Ser Caderyn, Ser Rhea!”

               Caderyn had aged since the last time Vivienne saw him. Hair that had once been black as raven’s feathers was now gray like fennec fur. Deep lines and crow’s feet had been etched into the edges of his mouth and eye sockets. Soft green eyes were now heavy-lidded with sleepless nights and the weariness of lyrium use. Ser Rhea Conall, the woman, looked older too but she wore it well, like an experienced adventurer who shoulders a heavy pack up a steep hill. Vivienne suspected that her umber brown hair had been dyed to maintain its luster, like some of the elder Antivan women Vivienne remembered that visited her parent’s stall.

               “It’s Lieutenant now,” Ser Rhea crowed with a light chuckle in her voice.

               Vivienne’s classmates continued walking up the steps, making concerned faces at her. She ignored them and stood at the top of the stairs to speak with her old friends.

               “Lieutenant?” she asked. “Well deserved, I am sure.”

               “Well, look at you! All grown up and speaking well for yourself. Enchanter Lydia must have you in her clutches,” Ser Caderyn quipped.

               “And there are no finer clutches to be in than hers, if you ask me,” Rhea finished.

               “We remember you were just a wee little thing when we found you. Maker, you’re so tall!”

               “It seems not even magic can stop some things,” Vivienne laughed. “It’s good to see you both, but I must go to class.”

               “Oh, yes, off you go. Maker go with you, Vivienne.”

               The Templars wished her well, smiled, and sent her away.

               Vivienne turned right and walked down the hallway toward Enchanter Seamus’s classroom. Her fellow classmates had disappeared from sight, but she heard a raucous from within the room. She continued forward, unbeknownst to her what lay ahead.

               When she arrived in the doorway the scene laid before her was one of utter chaos. Fear gripped her – hard and unyielding, like ice in winter – and opened her up to the dangers that lay beyond the Veil. Echoes and whispers clouded her, filled her head with chants and propositions. She pushed them back, just for a moment, so she could summon the power within her.

               A Templar, bloodied and broken, lay lifeless in the corner. Vivienne recognized the Templar; he was one of the few that assisted in the Harrowings. The cause of such violence was Enchanter Seamus, his hands soaked in blood and a handful of demons huddled around him. The apprentices had scattered or turned into abominations. The few that hadn’t turned stood shocked, stock-still, and unable to react.

               Blood magic was the first thing Vivienne thought of when she saw the blood on the Enchanter’s hands. And from the looks of it she was right.

               “What’s going on here?” Vivienne bellowed as the apprentice abominations shrieked and turned to her.

               Her words seemed to end the deadlock and wake her fellow students from their inaction. There was little time to act, as the first abomination fell upon a young curly-haired apprentice. She fired a winter’s grasp at the creature, who took the hit and roared with anger. Without a staff in her hands her hit had little effect on the abomination, but it was enough to wound and cast it back.

               The whispers from the Fade grew louder and begged more incessantly as fear crept closer.

               _“Let me in, and I will save you from this nightmare…”_

_“Just go to sleep, girl, and it will all be over soon…”_

_“We can help you. Make you more powerful…”_

She pushed them away, screaming as she unleashed a wall of ice that blocked the abominations from falling upon those not possessed but crippled by fear. “Run!” she yelled to little avail as more of the apprentices cowered further into the ground.

               “You cannot help them, girl,” cackled the Enchanter on the other side of the room. He did not sound like himself. He sounded crazed; with bloodlust, or fear, or anger, Vivienne could not discern. “You cannot save anyone. We are all doomed by our very existence, don’t you see?”

               The Enchanter – who was normally a quiet, friendly man – appeared distraught and haphazard. His robes were ripped down the front revealing his chest and the blood on his hands shone like a layer of liquid rubies. Vivienne felt sick looking at him.

               “They kill us, or they make us Tranquil. Like poor Lyssa. There is no in between. We are all dead! We belong to _them_!” He thrusted a finger at the dead Templar and then gave her a wide, eery grin. “And now, you belong to me, girl.”

               Blood magic. A forbidden art. An art not easily passed down. But one still taught, even apparently in the Circle. Blood magic invited in all sorts of evils; demons, possession, rage, temptation… Things that Vivienne had been taught all her life to steer clear of. Enchanter Seamus reached out his hand, whispering strange and unintelligible words, and then clenched his fist in Vivienne’s direction. Every bone in her body snapped to attention, like the way the Templars saluted when the Knight-Commander passed. She was left capable of thought but incapable of movement.

Enchanter Seamus had taken control of her body with blood magic.

               “Your ice spells are most proficient, Vivienne. I think I’ll make use of them. To kill as many Templars in this Maker-forsaken tower as we can.”

               Panic slithered its way into her mind and heart as the enchanter turned her around, one limb at a time. Like a puppet on a string. Whispers from demons of fear echoed in her ears to the point of a deafening roar, a thousand layers of voices telling her to give in to them and to let them help her. She felt her heart beating fast, faster and faster, but there was nothing she could do. Like a marionette, moving as the puppeteer saw fit.

               The only way out was to give in.

               _“Come now, Vivienne, dear,”_ whispered one of the demons to her gently, in a voice that sounded horribly akin to Enchanter Lydia’s _, “you know that I can help you. You know that I can set you free. That I can end this nightmare. Why won’t you let me, Vivienne, child?”_

Horrified. Terrified. She screamed a reply in her mind:

               _No. They will not take me. They will not make me a monster._

               But Enchanter Seamus did that for her.

               She struck down two of her classmates. The first tried to run, so the Enchanter forced her to cast an ice mine on the floor. The boy stepped on it. His scream ended as soon as the ice reached his head. Blood mixed with ice. The second tried to fight Vivienne. She summoned an electrical current and Vivienne was struck in the shoulder with a sizzling ball of energy. As soon as the attack had been cast, Enchanter Seamus forced Vivienne to retaliate. A winter’s grasp knocked the girl back against the wall of the classroom; she hit her head from the force of the blow, and slid down to the floor in a heap. Vivienne was not sure if the girl was dead or unconscious.

               The other students – those still alive and not turned into abominations – huddled against the walls of the classroom, whimpering and whispering verses from the Chant of Light.

               _“Let me in, darling… I will take care of you,”_ the demon persisted from beyond the Veil.

               With uncoordinated movements, Vivienne’s body cleared the classroom and entered into the hall. She couldn’t look back to see the Enchanter. But she knew he was close by with his pet demons beside him. She wished she could scream, wished she could warn the Templars – her friends – that the Enchanter was going to try to kill them.

               The Templars were already there, Ser Rhea and Ser Caderyn, rushing towards the classroom with their swords out.

               “Vivienne!” Ser Caderyn cried as Vivienne’s arms lifted to summon a ball of frost.

               _No, Maker,_ she prayed, one of the few times in her life, _please don’t let me kill them…_

               Before the attack was cast, Ser Rhea cast a spell purge. A cloud of blue and light sprang up from floor and drifted forwards over Vivienne and the surrounding area.

               “ _Holy smite_!” Ser Caderyn bellowed, looking over Vivienne’s shoulder.

               The force of Ser Caderyn’s ability flung Vivienne back. She felt free as she fell; her limbs belonged to her again. Ser Rhea’s spell purge stopped the Enchanter’s blood magic. A sickening thud reverberated in her skull as her head smacked the ground. Vision closed. Eyes folding. Was that the roar of a demon? Was that the metallic smell of lyrium?

               She didn’t know, because all she saw was darkness.

…

               Her head throbbed with every heartbeat. The sound of it was riotous. And then there were people talking too. That didn’t help. There were two conversing, a man and a woman.

               “Knight-Commander. The girl was clearly under Seamus’s control. We cannot fault her—“

               “She killed two of her fellow apprentices and almost hurt two of my Templars, First Enchanter. The deaths of the apprentices must be answered.”

               “They have been, Geraldine. Seamus is dead.”

               “I want Enchanter Markus and Ser Beatrix to examine her, all the same. They are the most familiar with…blood magic…and these types of possessions.”

               “I will see it done.”

               “And what about her Harrowing?” A third, familiar voice chimed in. “It was supposed to be tomorrow.”

               “I will make a decision on that matter depending on what Enchanter Markus and Ser Beatrix have to say. If she is not possessed, as the both of you claim, she will undergo her Harrowing as scheduled. If not…”

               “Geraldine, this is my student—“

               “And all your students are immune to the dangers of blood magic, Lydia? No. I think not.”

               “I beg you, Knight-Commander, do not hurt her. She is a good girl, skilled—“

               “We can always make her Tranquil, if that is your wish, First Enchanter.”

               _Tranquil_. The word hurt Vivienne’s head more than the impact of hitting the floor.

               She opened her eyes.

               “Please don’t make me Tranquil,” she pleaded, looking up at First Enchanter Hadrian, Enchanter Lydia, and Knight-Commander Madrigal. “Please… I beg you…” Tears, not of her own will, streaked down her cheeks. “I am not possessed… I swear…”

               “We will find out soon enough,” the Knight-Commander growled.


	3. Harrowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Everything bright, roar of anger as the demon rears. No, I will not fall. No one will ever control me again. Flash of white as the world comes back. Shaking, hollow, Harrowed, but smiling at Templars to show them I’m me. ‘I am not like that. I can protect you. If Templars come for you, I will kill them’.” -Cole, Dragon Age: Inquisition

Harrowed

               She faced the demon. Afraid, but not opened up to fear. Not like last time.

               “Never trust a demon,” she spat.

               The demon – which had taken the form of a young elvhen apprentice – growled like a dog. “I am no demon,” it tried to convince her again. “I’m just like Lyssa, that girl you knew. I want out. I want to be free. Let me in. Let me go with you.”

               “If I let you in the Templars will kill me.”

               “I am not like that. I can protect you. If Templars come for you, I will kill them.”

               Vivienne shook her head and backed away, charging her hands with the power of magic to attack the demon. It saw, snarled, and changed. The young elvhen girl twisted and contorted, like the way the colors of a new painting blend and bleed when introduced to water, and then it reared. Bright and full of rage. A demon of anger towered over Vivienne.

               It roared.

               “No, I will not fall. No one will ever control me again,” she breathed as she unleashed the full force of a blizzard.

               Caught in the force of her wintry maelstrom the demon tried to attack her. Vivienne took another step back, letting her mana recharge. Such a summoning of power required energy, so she dug deep into the roots of the Fade and blasted the demon before her with a cone of cold. With a final scream of unfulfilled malice, the rage demon fell and disappeared.

               Another flash of white. Vivienne then realized she was no longer in the Fade.

               She shook as she looked up at the faces leering over. Trembling, metallic tinge of lyrium on her tongue, she smiled.

               _I’m me_ , she told them without words. _No one will ever control me again._

Hollow, hurt, and harrowed, but there she was. No demon would ever take her. No mage would ever control her. She would become as hard as iron and as strong as steel. Whatever it took to survive.

…

               Guided to the mage quarters by the Templars at her back, Vivienne noticed that the apprentices refused to meet her eyes as she walked past them. Petyr stood among them and he too was unable to meet her gaze. Vivienne wanted to talk to him, wanted him to understand that killing the apprentices hadn’t been her fault, but she knew her words would be wasted. So instead, she soldiered on.

               Vivienne thought, at least, that the Templars were taking her to the mage quarters. However, she was escorted to the main hall of the tower. The hall was quiet and empty but for the group of Templars standing near the intimidating marble doors leading to the outside world. Among the Templars also lingered the Knight-Commander, First Enchanter Hadrian, and Enchanter Lydia. Lydia held a small pack in her arms, made from what appeared to be fine ring velvet lined with mink fur.

               A sinking feeling settled in Vivienne’s stomach as she understood what was happening.

               She was leaving the Ostwick Circle.

               As she and the Templars accompanying her approached the group at the doors, Enchanter Lydia stepped forward. Vivienne noticed the redness in the whites of her eyes and the faint smudge of her black eyeliner. The woman had been crying. This perfect, flawless, and put-together woman – whom Vivienne held in the highest regard – had caved.

               Enchanter Lydia held out the ring velvet pack to Vivienne and said, “I’ve put your things in here, darling. You’re being transferred. I do not know where. The Knight-Commander believes it best, after what happened yesterday. Be a good girl, Vivienne. I know you will be.”

               Lydia tucked the edge of her kind and warm hand on Vivienne’s cheek. Her smile was veiled, sad, but there nonetheless. A twist of lips to mask her true feelings. Vivienne flung herself into Lydia’s arms, who hesitantly returned the embrace. Vivienne was afraid the Templars would try to separate them, but no one moved. She closed her eyes and tried to record the memory of Lydia’s scent – rose oil and Antivan spice – and her touch – soft and warm and comforting – in her mind.

               “If you want to survive, dear, sentimentality is not an option,” Lydia whispered in the crook of Vivienne’s shoulder. “But for you, I will make an exception.”

               “I will miss you, Lydia.”

               “And I shall miss you too, darling.”

               As Vivienne prepared to let go of her mentor and friend, Lydia whispered one last thing into her ear, “Remember, Vivienne, two things: first, magic is dangerous, just as fire is dangerous. Anyone who forgets that gets burned. And second, they may leash us like animals, but a leash can be pulled from either end. Take care of yourself, dear.”

               With that, Vivienne nodded once and pulled away.

               “You have a long way to go, girl, and you best be off now,” the Knight-Commander barked from the entrance.

               Vivienne turned away from Enchanter Lydia and walked forward. The Templars in their gleaming armor adjusted their hands on their swords as she approached. First Enchanter Hadrian nodded to her before handing off a vial of red liquid to one of the Templar captains.

               “Her phylactery,” he said.

               The Templar placed it in a pouch on his belt.

               “Let’s go,” he ordered.

               Vivienne slung the pack over her shoulders. The doors to the outside world opened. Silently, she said goodbye to the only place she had ever considered her home, and to the one woman she had ever truly considered to be her friend. The Circle of Ostwick and that life was behind her, but she knew somewhere deep inside that leaving was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed the part in Vivienne's codex where she was transferred to Montsimmard while still an apprentice. Oops. Oh well.


	4. Halcyon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne's backstory (what little we know of it) intrigues me. I decided to write it. Here follows what I think could possibly be part of Vivienne's background, based off dialogue and the small bits of information that we have. Not guaranteed to be canon nor to be perfect. Some characters are made up. Everything else belongs to Bioware and Vivienne is written by Mary Kirby. Please review, but be constructive and kind.

Halcyon

               She remembers her life and the years she spent while at the Circle of Montsimmard. She learned so much, grew so much, gained so much. By the time she was twenty-four she had earned the rank of Enchanter. One of the youngest Enchanters at Montsimmard in ages, it was said.

              She remembers everything that it took to get her there and the adversity that she faced in securing her position. She was, after all, not Orlesian. But she played their pretty games and she smiled and said the right things. She had Enchanter Lydia to thank for that, for as short a time it had been for her to learn.

              She remembers how alone she felt during that time. When everyone was out to despoil her part in the Grand Game, there was no room for sentiment, no room to let people in. But she hid it all beneath an iron mask, knowing that revealing weakness would get her as good as killed.

               Until one cold night, at the Wintersend Ball in Val Royeaux; her first visit to the Imperial Palace.

…

               The frigid air chilled Vivienne to her bones. It sent shivers up her spine. Or was it the potpourri and perfume swirling in the room like a heavy fog? Perhaps it was the aura of mystery and intrigue. Regardless, she did not wish to spoil her opportunity to meet members of the nobility.

               “Vicomtesse, I would like to introduce you to Enchanter Vivienne of the Circle of Montsimmard,” First Enchanter Arnaud said, showing Vivienne to the pale, petite woman before her.               

               Vivienne gave a little bow and asked the woman, “How do you do, my lady?”

               “First Enchanter, she is marvelous; all that you promised and more!”

               The Vicomtesse of Mont-de-Glace – from what Vivienne knew of the woman already – was in her late forties, a devout Andrastian, and childless. Her nephew, son of the late Marquis of Mont-de-Glace, was set to inherit her small fortune. While the Vicomtesse had little power in the overall scheme of the Grand Game she would most certainly make a formidable ally in the days to come.

               “Vicomtesse, you are too kind,” said Vivienne. “How is the weather in Mont-de-Glace? I hear winters there are most arduous.”

               The Vicomtesse, in her painted yellow mask and feathered hat, feigned a swoon and set her gloved hand upon her breast.

               “Winters are dreadful in Mont-de-Glace, Enchanter, I assure you. I attempt to spend as much time as possible in Val Royeaux during this season… Tell me, Enchanter, your accent… You are not Orlesian, are you?”

               “No, madame, I am not, but Montsimmard has been my home for many years now.”

               “I see. How do you find Montsimmard then?”

               For as much as she had determined to gain another noble ally, Vivienne was afraid that the conversation would take a turn for the dreary and dull and she would be left in uninteresting company for the remainder of the evening. First Enchanter Arnaud was entertaining, on rare occassion, but his breath often smelled terrible and Vivienne was acutely aware of it that evening. The fact that he had attempted to mask his odor with garlic cloves – as his physician recommended – made it worse. She dreaded the remaining hours of the Wintersend Ball and prayed that its pace would accelerate.

               As she was about to respond to the Vicomtesse, her eyes locked with a roguish stranger in a black mask set with emeralds. The man was tall in comparison to the others around him. His crisp samite uniform bore the decorations of a military officer and the olive wreath pin of a Council of Heralds member. A rapier swung at his side, the pommel and guard crusted with jewels fit for a Grand Duke. She knew immediately two things: that this was a very important man, and that he would be hers.

               Never missing a beat, Vivienne returned to her dull conversation with the Vicomtesse.

               “I find Montsimmard as beautiful a place as any in our lovely Empire, though what compares to the jewel that is the Imperial city?”

               “Ah, spoken well, Madame Vivienne. I wonder, do you have a patron among the nobility? Arnaud, I know how you enjoy setting your Enchanters up for success. If you do not—“

               “She indeed does,” interrupted a voice, gravelly and smooth at the same time.

               Her heart leapt in her chest when she realized the voice belonged to the roguish stranger in the black mask, the same man whose eyes she met across the dance floor. He indeed was tall; he towered above the Vicomtesse and made the First Enchanter seem a child in comparison. Heeled boots had been polished to an obsidian gleam, his uniform was creaseless, and his coiffed black hair had not a strand out of place. Vivienne thought briefly that she recognized the colors and heraldry… Yes. Black and emeralds, a military man – though not a chevalier, a man of importance, the Council of Heralds pin… Of course.

               “Duke Bastien,” said the Vicomtesse with a polite curtsy to the man.

               “Vicomtesse, First Enchanter, Madame Vivienne…” Duke Bastien smiled as he turned his gaze to Vivienne. “I am Enchanter Vivienne’s patron, as it pleases her.”

               “Are you, Ghislain? I was not aware that such an arrangement had been made, particularly from one with such stature as yourself,” Arnaud asked. He sounded petty and his breath was rank with garlic.

               Duke Bastien de Ghislain. A powerful member of the Council of Heralds. His late daughter was the wife of Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. He was friends of the Montforts and it was whispered that he was well acquainted with Lady Mantillon, the Dowager, former Emperor Florian’s mistress and avid player of the Grand Game. There were very few people more important than the Duke de Ghislain, save the Dowager and the Empress herself.

               “It is a new development,” Vivienne added cheekily, knowing how having such a patron as the Duke could open doors for her that she would never have opened without him.

               “I see.”

               “Vicomtesse, First Enchanter, may I steal Madame Vivienne from you? We have some business matters to discuss.”

               “Of course, your Grace. It is a pleasure to see you again, as always,” the Vicomtesse replied with a quick bow.

               The Duke held out his hand for Vivienne and she took it gracefully. She bid her companions a good evening and allowed the Duke to guide her away from them and into the throng of murmuring nobles.

               “I am Duke Bastien de Ghislain,” he told her, “and I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Madame Vivienne.”

               “The pleasure is mine, your Grace.”

               Heads turned and whispers took flight throughout the room as Bastien led Vivienne through the crowd. This was after all, the Dowager’s Wintersend Ball, and she would not take lightly the fact that his Grace was ignoring her in order to dote upon a foreigner, a young Enchanter, a mage! It was a scandal from the moment their eyes met, but Vivienne would not wish it any other way.

               “I’ve heard great things about you, my lady. How you rose from the bottom as a mage in the Montsimmard Circle to become the youngest Enchanter in two ages.” She noted how he conveniently left out her beginnings as an apprentice in the Free Marches, but would not fault him for it. She took great pains to make it uncommon knowledge.

               “And I have likewise heard _much_ of you, your Grace. How through your vote and support our young Empress now sits upon the throne of our glorious Empire. Your military prowess during the Fereldan Rebellion and finesse in battle are often spoken of as well.”

               He sighed. “No doubt another ploy in the Grand Game, my lady. The Dowager has put herself to work in making the rumor mill spin.”

               “Then perhaps we should speak of your daughter? I heard that Lady Calienne was a delightful young woman and that some thought she had the proper makings of an empress. It’s such a shame that those talents were all for naught.”

               “I see you are well informed, Madame Vivienne.”

               “And I see that you are a man of opportunity, your Grace.”

               He halted at the edge of the dance floor. “I hope you learn to judge me not by the actions of those I associate with, but by the man I am.” The Duke bowed to her and held his hand aloft for her to take once more. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

               “And send the rumor mill spinning once more? Why, of course, my dear.”

               Duke Bastien’s lips curled in a smile, and as the music of one song faded and opened into another, Vivienne took his hand and danced. The songs played on and on, but Vivienne didn’t care. The whispers increased in volume, but Vivienne didn’t care. The Dowager’s eyes bore into the dance floor, but Vivienne didn’t care. The Fifth Blight could have started in that very room and Vivienne would not have possessed an ounce of care.

               The only thing that mattered was Bastien – he immediately insisted that she call him so. He was charming and elegant and mysterious. His name, his rank, his importance… Those things should not have mattered as much as they did to her. She would not deny the possibilities that awaited her, now that she had the eye of one of the most important men in Orlais. But Bastien himself was wonderful; a wonderful dancer, a wonderful conversationalist.

               As the evening wore on and he refused to leave her side, Vivienne knew with more and more certainty that he was hers, and that he would be for a very long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all likelihood, I've probably made a mess of all this Grand Gaming, but oh well. I liked writing this chapter. It was fun. I also probably botched all the nobility relationships and the timing of everything, but hey! At least I had fun. As always, please comment and leave constructive criticism! Thanks for reading.


	5. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne's backstory (what little we know of it) intrigues me. I decided to write it. Here follows what I think could possibly be part of Vivienne's background, based off dialogue and the small bits of information that we have. Not guaranteed to be canon nor to be perfect. Some characters are made up. Everything else belongs to Bioware and Vivienne is written by Mary Kirby. Please review, but be constructive and kind.

Hunger

               Music made of strings and brass swelled throughout the halls of the Ghislain chateau. Fat and lazy sounds they were, pregnant with promises of a coming summer. The cool air smelt faintly of springtime rain, that earthy scent that settles comfortably into the bottom of one’s soul. In the chateau’s vestibule stood the men and women of the nobility, masked and perfumed and jeweled. They made idle conversation, adding to the music a cacophony of voices and to the air an aroma of mixed pleasantries.

               She stood above the rest on the topmost landing of the stairs. Beside her stood another woman, regal in her jade-colored gown and obsidian mask. Vivienne found the woman to be a wonderful companion.

               “Nicoline, darling, what is the name of your tailor in Val Royeaux? The stitching on your dress is absolutely perfect,” asks Vivienne before sipping at her flute of almond-flavored champagne.

               “Jeannette de Guy. She has done some lovely pieces for the Empress and more than one for the Dowager. I also hear she is paramour to Lady DuLac. Can you imagine what kind of business that brings her?”

               “A most fortuitous bond for Misstress de Guy, indeed,” Vivienne replied.

               She thought of her own bond, her patron, Duke Bastien de Ghislain. Consequently, the husband of Duchess Nicoline – who Vivienne hosted the musical salon with. Bastien was a dream. His patronage – and being his lover as well – had done much for Vivienne, both in opportunity and reputation.

               “It is so wonderful what a noble’s patronage can do for someone, is it not? Think, if Bastien had not made his offer to you we would never have met and never would have become such fast friends.”

               “Very true, my dear,” Vivienne chuckled.

               Two years ago, when Vivienne first met Duchess Nicoline, she had trembled at the thought of meeting her lover’s wife. Bastien assured her that Nicoline held no malice, but it did little to ease Vivienne’s mind. She had become accustomed to acquiring political rivals and hated to add the wife of the Duke de Ghislain to that list. But when they met her mind was immediately put at ease. The Duchess was gracious, kind, quick-witted, and a daring player of the Game. Vivienne’s attentions were captivated from the second they were introduced.

               “Ugh, Vivienne, do you see Marquis Alphonse? I do not recall inviting that rat.”

               Vivienne smiled at Nicoline and said, “Shall we rout the rat from the nest, darling?”

               “I am afraid that I do not have the energy for such a thing tonight.” Indeed, the Duchess looked a little pale and worn. Her weariness was displayed in the draw of her cheeks and the slight slump in her posture. “Would you mind taking care of the pest for me?”

               “With pleasure.”

               A servant in a black painted mask took Vivienne’s champagne flute away. Vivienne straightened her gown and with a nod of approval from the Duchess she set forth to conquer her prey.

Each step was carefully measured; too long a stride and she would seem gangly, while too short and she would appear rushed. Neck elongated, shoulders low, hands daintily fisted at her sides, and she thought to herself “ _power”_ ; the combination of thought and posture culminated into a stride that exuded confidence and awe. Heads turned as if on swivels, the music faded into the background, and the chatter that filled the vestibule hushed to a gentle undertone.

_They are all looking at me_ , she thought, _and I would want it no other way._

She reached the bottom of the final set of stairs and aimed her gaze at Marquis Alphonse of Mont-de-Glace, the unfortunate brat who thought of himself far too highly and treated others far too ill in order to gain any semblance of fair reputation. His arrival was typically met with groans of displeasure and veiled pleasantries. Vivienne and the Duchess, however, were irritated with his part – or his supposed part – in the Grand Game.

“Dear Alphonse,” she said, her voice firm and smooth just the way Enchanter Lydia had taught her, “I was not aware that you had been invited to this evening’s event.”

He did not see her coming, which gave Vivienne a joyous sense of satisfaction. Surprise was an element not to be discredited in any situation. She had the advantage, and it was written all over the poor Marquis’ face as he turned to gawk at her.

               “It seems you are an unwelcome guest. What dreadful manners you have, darling. Did you come here hoping to garner the affections of those who are too afraid to ignore your ill-mannered advances?”

               He stumbled around his words, another behavior that Vivienne immediately pounced upon.

               “Oh, you poor thing. You cannot even piece together a coherent sentence. However, I’m sure there’s nothing worth saying in that silly head of yours.”

               With a twitch of her fingers the Ghislain household guard appeared at her side, flanking her. They were impressive soldiers, young men trained by veterans of the Ferelden Rebellion. Their black masks cried tears of emeralds. Their armored hands snapped to the hilts of their swords, always ready in case they were needed.

               _Power_. It was a wonderful feeling, Vivienne thought, as her hand fell to her hip.

               “I shall give you ten seconds to remove yourself from the premises, otherwise these lovely gentleman will be more than happy to do it for you.”

               “I…” he finally squeaked out. “I will not be bullied by an upstart _mage_ with no name!”

               “Three seconds, darling,” she coolly continued. To display her composure she pretended to inspect her nails. “Four…”

               Marquis Alphonse stomped his feet like a child.  “Cold conniving bitch. Your heart might as well be made of iron!”

               Anyone who had not been paying attention to the scene turned to Vivienne and the Marquis. All eyes in the vestibule were upon them.

               The insults meant nothing to her. If anything, they were fuel for a fire that stoked the flames of a reputation that built and burned brighter with each passing second of the Marquis’ outrage.

               “Better a heart of iron, monsieur, than the propriety of a child, which is what you possess.” She turned on her heel, her royale sea silk gown flapping behind her. Without even passing another glance at the man, she ordered the two household guards to escort the Marquis out. “Ten, darling. I’m afraid you’ve run out of time.”

               “This is absurd!”

               She didn’t see it – she didn’t have to – but she heard the scuffle that the Marquis and the guards got into. Vivienne continued forward, never looking back, never revealing for a second that she had the slightest interest in the Marquis’ removal. She heard the door to the chateau open and close even as the Marquis declared his wrath with improper words. The whispers in the vestibule began again, coming to a crescendo as she ascended the stairs and took her place beside Duchess Nicoline once more.

               “Madame de Fer,” they whispered. “Her heart is cold as ice and her soul is dark as iron…”

               _Madame de Fer_. She turned the words over in her mind. _De Fer._ _The Lady of Iron_. _Yes, it will do_ , she thought. No longer would she be known as a nameless Montsimmard enchanter with a secret past. She had been forged, like iron, in the crucible of the Grand Game to become Enchanter Vivienne of Montsimmard and Madame de Fer. As she continued to listen to the whispers and the buzzing in the room, she was reminded what she once promised herself long ago:

               _No demon will ever take me. No mage will ever control me._ _No noble will look down on me. I will become as hard as iron and as strong as steel. Whatever it takes to survive._


End file.
